


Hello

by Cameron_McKell



Series: Adrift and Related Works [7]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Endgame, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cameron_McKell/pseuds/Cameron_McKell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many Allens does it take to deliver a message to Nightwing? Two, but Dick's not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello

 He'd just gotten home and hopped in the shower, when his comm beeped.

 

It was the non-emergency beep – a short, musical trill of notes that was distinct, but could easily be explained away as someone's errant text message – so he finished rinsing off before he slipped the device into his ear, activated it, and started toweling the excess moisture from his hair.

 

“Message to B 01,” the automated message system recounted to him. “Sent by B 23, priority alpha, authorization 04.”

 

Dick made eye contact with himself in his bathroom mirror and froze, still holding the towel over one half of his face. Bart had left him a message, which wasn't unusual, but Flash bumping it up to priority alpha... That _was_ unusual.

 

“Play message,” he barked out into the damp air, retreating out into their- _his_ bedroom and toward his costume. No matter what the news was, he was probably going to need it. There was a soft chime acknowledging the instruction, then Bart's voice began to play.

 

“Hey, 'Wing,” the young speedster's voice chirped, wobbly but bright in his ear, and Dick paused with his pants halfway on so the rustle of fabric wouldn't obstruct his ability to hear. “As soon as you can, you needtogetdown _toCentralbecause –_ ” Dick had had a lot of practice deciphering speedster-talk over the years, but Bart's voice had quickly accelerated, like a cassette on fast-forward, until it was little more than a drawn out, warbling sound, pitched so high it was nearly painful.

 

Bart's voice abruptly cut off as Dick pulled on the top of his uniform, and for a moment, he worried that he'd knocked the comm out of his ear, but no, he still felt it wedged into his ear. It had just gone silent. Alarmed by this sudden silence, Dick yanked his gloves and boots on, and started attaching the rest of his equipment at double-time.

 

“Reduce playback speed to 25%,” Dick instructed his comm while he fixed his mask in place, tightening down straps so he wouldn't trip or have his pants fall down on him as he bolted out of the apartment. The nearest zeta tube was too far to be reasonably heading to on foot, so he headed for his motorcycle. Just as he was about to tell it to start the playback, his comm chimed with another incoming transmission, so he answered that. It was probably related. It was, both literally and figuratively.

 

“ _Dick_ ,”

 

It was Flash's – Barry's – voice this time.

 

“What's the situation,” he interrupted, jamming his helmet onto his head and vaulting onto the 'bike.

 

“You need to get to Central,” Barry replied while Dick urged the engine of the motorcycle to life underneath himself and peeled off down the street, unknowingly repeating the only part of Bart's message Dick had been able to understand before.

 

“What's _wrong_?” Dick insisted, the outer, reinforced layer of his pants scraping against the ground as he took a series of turns _much_ too sharply. He needed to get a hold of himself, find the calm in the face of adversity that Bruce had taught him was one of his greatest assets, but his objectivity had always flown out the window where the Flashes were concerned.

 

“Something's happened, and –” Barry's voice choked with emotion for a moment, and a pit of cold dread opened up in Dick's stomach. What _else_ could happen to the Flash Family at this point? After Wally –?

 

Had something happened to Iris?

 

Oh, no.

 

… Had something happened to the _twins_?

 

Nightwing pushed his bike as hard as he could as his mind reeled with all the possibilities, until Barry finally found his voice again.

 

“... something _wonderful_.”

 

Something that had wound up tight with worry inside Dick cautiously began to relax. He let his speed slow down to a more manageable level.

 

“What's happened, Barry?” He tried asking one more time; now that his mind wasn't being completely overridden by worry, he couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, could happen that would affect Bart and Barry to such a degree? Maybe Iris was pregnant again...?

 

“Come to my house in Central,” Barry began, finally seeming to have gotten a hold of himself. His next words turned Dick's world on its axis. “Someone's _very_ anxious to see you again.”

 

The only person he hadn't seen a while is –

 

“He's – I mean – is it –?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Barry breathed out, and Dick got the distant impression that Barry was crying, probably not for the first time.

 

Dick bent low over the motorcycle, pushing it as fast as it could go.

 

“I'll be there soon,” he promised, distantly wishing he'd somehow had the forethought to have the zeta put in closer to his – _their_ – apartment. “... Is he okay? I mean –”

 

“He's...” Barry hesitated for a moment, and alarm bells started ringing in Dick's head. For a normal person, a second's pause wasn't much to be concerned over, but to a speedster? They could have an entire mental soliloquy prepared in the time it took someone else to sneeze. “It's... complicated.”

 

Trying not to let another lump of foreboding settle in his gut, Dick pushed on toward the Allen residence in Central City.

 

* * *

 

The home of Iris and Barry Allen was eerily quiet when Dick burst in, not even bothering to knock, breath heaving in the silence.

 

Iris was the only one that looked up when he barged in – at least, that he noticed – but just tightened her arms. One was holding Don, who was leaning against her with the vague bemusement of the very young around adults behaving unusually, the other curled around Barry's waist, reaching past him to tangle in a threadbare tatter of faded yellow 'frictionless' bodysuit.

 

Bart was sitting on the other end of the couch, lower lip clamped between his teeth, happy tears running down his face as he stared at the object sprawled halfway on his lap. His hands were moving at superspeed, massaging away vicious-looking leg cramps from legs, covered in frayed red fabric that had once been the same color as his own.

 

What couldn't be held in Bart's lap was halfway propped up in Barry's, while the older man ran shaking hands through rusty red hair and over yellow fabric riddled with rips. He started each stroke as if he was going to massage away cramps like Bart, but each time they devolved – feeling the rise and fall of rapidly twitching lungs here, checking a wildly racing heartbeat there – until each touch turned into an affirmation, of solidity and presence.

 

Periodically, he would reach out to steady or readjust Dawn on her spot atop the circle of white cut through with a red lightning bolt, so threadbare it was almost see-through. Her eyes were shut, soothed to sleep by the unsteady vibrations humming out of her improvised mattress, and one trembling finger tracing up and down her back, tentatively, as if she would disappear under the slightest pressure.

 

Seeing that gently moving finger flipped some sort of switch in Dick's brain, and the pieces he'd seen while looking at the others finally resolved themselves into a living, breathing _whole_.

 

“ _ **Wally**_.”

 

At the sound of his voice, that rusty red head jerked toward him, the movement unsteady and clearly painful, almost more like a seizure than conscious movement. He would think – and worry – about that more in a minute, but for now, Dick could finally see his absolute favorite pair of green eyes, which he'd missed like a severed limb, exhausted and tight with pain, but undeniably _alive_.

 

Wally's lips shaped his name over and over, silent except for a somewhat peculiar clicking sound that _could_ have been the 'k', and Dick launched himself across the room to kneel even with his head. His skin buzzed uncontrollably against Dick's palms when he pulled his gloves off to cup his cheeks.

 

Wally made soft, huffing sounds at him, clearly attempting to speak, and Dick could _feel_ the strain in his throat at each attempt, so he bent down and quieted him with a kiss.

 

Someone giggled hysterically for a brief moment – probability would suggest Bart, but Dick had the sneaking suspicion it was Barry – and Dick pulled back just far enough so they could _both_ gasp for breath.

 

“Nice to see you too, Wally.”


End file.
